


A Lesson in Grieving

by Tradanui



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Gen, Grief, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Short One Shot, not really pairing, only very mildly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tradanui/pseuds/Tradanui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orihara Izaya receives some unfortunate news. How does one react to something that was never supposed to happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Grieving

It's not even late at night when Izaya notices that his phone is buzzing uncontrollably. A volley of incoming texts. He peers at the screen, lips lifting in amusement at the combination of contact names. Simon. An informant whose name and story change every time he hears from them. Simon again. Celty. He skips over the Russian's texts and opens the Dullahan's. 

"What did you do," he reads aloud. His cheeks ache from how hard he is smiling. What fun could have been wrought in his absence? How he'd like to have been there for it. He opens Simon's next. 

"It doesn't-" the first reads, obviously sent sooner than intended. "-seem like you," says the second. Izaya's smile feels a little wearier suddenly. There's something he's missing here. He's never the one out of the loop. He doesn't like it. 

It takes less than five minutes of snooping and casual texts to find out what the fuss is all about. 

Heiwajima Shizuo has been shot, quiet seriously, witnesses say. Blood on the ground, a still body, panic everywhere, even though paramedics arrived soon after. His smile is back, brighter than ever, and there's a glee to his skip as Izaya waltzes around his desk, laughing. 

"Maybe that'll keep him off his feet for a little while," he says wistfully, glancing towards the couch. Namie is still out running errands or dreaming about her brother, or working; whatever it is she does when she's gone. 

He waits a few hours, deciding his plan of action carefully, then throws on his coat and strolls out the front door, humming a nameless tune as he walks, unthreatened, into Ikebukuro. 

\--

It's boring, he finds. There's no one to chase hm, no thrill in his veins when he comes around a corner. No danger. No Shizu-chan. He's almost annoyed with himself. 

He's wanted Shizuo out of the way for years. He's daydreamed about watching the blonde ex-bartender bleed out on the streets, watching him die like the monster he is, surrounded by a relieved crowd-

And he should be there, smiling down at the brute, standing over him, triumphant. He's meant to be there. He's the one who finally brings Shizuo down. That's how it should be. That is their beautiful, tragic, perfect fate. 

He stands still on a street corner, tapping his foot against the concrete, aggravated. Never mind. It's fine. Next time it'll be him. After Shizu-chan heals up all nicely from this run-in, Izaya will have his chance. It feels like an invasion of privacy. 

\--

He knocks twice on the door to announce his presence. There's a short wait and then the door cautiously opens. Shinra looks haggard, tired, like he's run a marathon that he was clearly not prepared for. 

"Izaya," Shinra says, the smallest hint of surprise coloing his tone. "What is it? Do you need something?"

"What," Izaya scoffs, smiling. "Can't I come by to visit my friend?" He leans on the doorframe, shrugging hs shoulders up, his posture perfectly calibrated to be casual and unimposing. 

Shrina's deadpan stare is the only response and then the doctor sighs, his glasses hiding his expression, and steps away from the door to allow Izaya to enter. 

Izaya sprawls on the couch, comfortable, politely accepts Shinra's offer of tea, and surveys the room. The couch cushions are slightly disheveled. The doors in his line of sight are all properly shut. There is no scent of blood, not even lingering. No stains. Izaya's eyebrow twitches ever so slightly; if anyone had been looking, they wouldn't even have noticed. He was certain this was where he would find his ex-bartender in distress. 

He drinks the tea Shinra offers him, listens to the doctor talk about something mundane, but files the information away in the back of his mind nonetheless. 

"To be honest," he says in a quiet gap. "I was looking for Celty, but I see she's not here. I'll drop by another time." It's true enough, and the excuse is easy. "I'll get out of your hair. Thank you for the tea, it was very like you."

Shinra doesn't move from his place on the couch, even when Izaya stands and makes towards the front door to let himself out. 

"You're not going to find him."

Izaya slows, turning to look over his shoulder. His head is tilted at a strange angle. "Find who?" He knows the smile spreading his lips thin is perfectly in place, slowly turning venemous as the seconds tick on.

"Shizuo," Shinra breathes. It's quiet. So quiet. 

"I'm never trying to find him," Izaya says, the words slipping out of his mouth casually. "He always finds me. I don't know why you mention it though."

What a fun game. Shinra looks so serious, and even if the information's not worth very much, he can tell that the doctor is going to tell him something that, at least to him, is very important. 

Words tumble out of Shinra's mouth, fall like blossoms onto the floor, sink away through the carpet, too muffled for Izaya to make out. 

"Sorry?" Izaya responds, leaning comically towards Shinra, cupping a hand around his ear as though to hear better. People are so fascinating, even people he knows fairly well. Even Shinra can be surprising, the way his shoulders are tensed up and his spine looks so straight it might fracture. 

"He's dead."

Izaya is still smiling, but something is very wrong. His lungs don't feel like they're working quite right, isn't that odd, and then something hot and angry begins burning through his chest like embers scattering across his organs. 

"How nice," his lips form the words for him, but his vision is oddly hazy. 

Shinra stands from the couch in a jerking motion, walks towards his former classmate, his steps aggressive, his posture turned murderous. 

"Get out," he snarls. "It's not fucking funny. He's- he-" he stutters, his face inches from Izaya's, lips curled up in anger. "He was my friend."

Izaya leaves without another word. He thinks he could take Shinra in a fight easily, but emotionally unstable people are harder to predict, and the unease in his chest is making him feel a little faint. 

\--

This isn't how it's supposed to be, he thinks, sitting in the park, watching the fountain. He's disappointed. Shizuo was supposed to be the strongest man in Ikebukuro. Maybe the world. And Izaya was meant to be the one who killed him. Instead... killed by some idiot on the street with a gun, not even sent by Izaya. It is wrong on every possible level.

He extracts his phone from his front pocket, navigating to the text he recieved from Celty earlier in the day. 

"Where are you hiding him?"

Sometimes it's easier to be straightforward with her. He waits, watching the fountain and the setting sun's colors reflecting off the water in a play of dancing light. 

The display is in no way distracting him from listening intently to a pair of idiot Yakuza who don't know volume control. Their voices carry more than they realize, even though they're sitting several feet away on a bench. Absently, somewhat automatically, he types some of their conversation into a note on his phone. His typing is interrupted by a buzz indicating a received text. It is a single word. 

"Stop."

"You don't have to tell me where, per se," he types out. "I just want to know why, really. I hate being left out :c"  
The emoticon is probably unecessary. The Yakuza have finally finished talking and moved on, and Izaya makes sure to duck his face when they pass by in case either of them recognize him. 

Celty's response seems to take a very long time. The fountain's light show is almost over. 

"Izaya," it begins, and even with that first part, Izaya feels his heart sinking in a way he's not familiar with. "I'm not hiding him. Shizuo was pronounced dead by paramedics and they took him away before I got there. I didn't get there in time. Please don't make this harder than it is."

There's a sense of finality settling onto his shoulders without his permission. Celty is fully capable of lying, he knows, but overall she's a very genuine woman. There is no deception here. He would know. Izaya stares blankly at the text, his eyes slowly unfocusing.

\--

Is this what grieving is like? He sets the pieces on his chess board, begins the process of arranging the various game pieces, but stops himself. There's not much point to this, is there? This strategy is pointless now. Izaya regards Shizuo as the White Queen. Both because he thinks Shizuo knows nothing about chess and would find the title offensive, and because she is the most powerful piece on the board; hardest to capture and controlling her is vital. He throws the piece onto the couch so he doesn't have to look at it anymore. 

Business goes on as usual. He strolls through the city with no fear, watches the fountain, eats at Russia Sushi. He sees hundreds of faces, hears people call to each other across busy intersections, laughing, sobbing, living. The city feels void and empty to him. No bellowing of his name, making sparks rush through his veins, no vending machine careening through the air. It's fine, he tells himself. 

He overhears a thug boasting to his boys about getting a new tattoo to commemorate his biggest achievement. They're standing in an alleyway off the main road and it's easy enough to pretend to be checking his phone while he listens to their asanine conversation. Should be entertaining at least, to hear what low lives like this consider to be life achievements. 

"I killed the strongest man in Ikebukuro," the man says. Izaya's fingers freeze over his phone's keyboard. "I killed Heiwajima Shizuo."

Everything is hazy again, but overlaid in beautiful, passionate red. Izaya delights in the whimper that turns to a gasping shriek as the knife in his hand twists against the man's ribs. "Did you really?" Izaya asks, his voice light and casual. "Did you really kill him?"

"Yes," the man sobs, blood on his lips. "I'm not lying, please, please, stop, stop-"

Izaya goes home with blood on his hands, more direct than his usual means. He left the man bleeding, hands shaking over the knife wound, and skipped away, humming to cover the sound of his own blood rushing through his head. 

\--

He knows exactly what day it is. Having a good sense of time is tantamount to him, and his business. But if you asked Orihara Izaya how long it had been since Shizuo had been shot, had died far away from his own eyes, he wouldn't be certain. Days, certainly. Maybe weeks. Who can keep track of such details? After all, such an unimportant event...

So Izaya has no real concept of how long it's been when he hears a familiar sound, a grinding of metal that seems somehow foreign, and yet impossible to mistake. He leans to the side and watches a lamp post land on the ground in front of him, twisted and bent. He turns, his heart stops beating, and he's unsure if he's hoping to see something or nothing at all. 

A blonde man, tall, not overly muscular, stooped from a throwing motion. Color tinted sunglasses covering his eyes. A bartender's uniform, blood soaking through the white undershirt on the left shoulder, obviously a wound torn open. 

"Shizu-chan," Izaya breathes, and it sounds reverant to him, but he figures the approaching man probably doesn't even hear it. He is visibly shaking, with rage or pain or fatigue, Izaya can't even guess. It doesn't matter. 

Shizuo is right in front of him, his breath hot on Izaya's face, and he only smells faintly of cigarette smoke, like he's cut down recently. 

"Shizu-chan," Izaya whispers again, and he knows this time he is heard from the way the blonde's nose wrinkles in disgust. 

He reaches out, not quite in control of his limbs. He cups Shizuo's face in both hands, earning a startled, panicked expression, and slowly, gently, pulls until he can press their lips together. 

Shizuo doesn't move, or breathe, and Izaya feels a smile tug at his lips, and he knows Shizuo can feel their shift where their skin is touching. He's so close that he can see the lines and flecks that make up the color of Shizuo's eyes. "I missed you," he croons. 

He waits another second, sees the way Shizuo's eyebrows draw down and finally moves, slamming his fist into the taller man's chest, approximating where the blood is coming from. Shizuo grunts and his knees give a little, and Izaya takes his chance, runs, knowing it'll be the only chance he'll have before the monster is back on his feet. He is running, vaulting over parked cars and up staircases, the air in his lungs is real and the wind throws his hair about his face and there is a scream chasing after him, just this, just this one, perfect thing; "IZAYA!" He is laughing before he can stop himself, and the sound of something being ripped out of the concrete is perfectly beautiful. 

\--

**8 Days Prior**

Namie sees the stretcher come in, her eyebrows raising in surprise at the familiar countenance laid out before her. "Dead on arrival," she hears one of the paramedics say. "Pulse was nonexistent, blood everywhere. Whoever did this was brutal."

"Put him in 128," she orders, expression neutral even when the paramedics stare at her. 

"But ma'am," one starts, tentative. "Are you going to autopsy already? We need to contact next of kin-"

"Just do it," she says, turning and walking away. Her hands are washed, gloves on, and in proper medical wear by the time the room is emptied except for the body laying perfectly still on the operating table.

"You're strong," she says, setting her own supplies. "I can't believe they thought this would kill you." She cuts away the clothing covering a badly damaged chest, pectoral torn, bruised. One gunshot near the heart, but not hitting it, another in the thigh, a third glancing off his ribs. 

She begins digging out the bullet in Shizuo's thigh, has it almost free when his fingers twitch, and he lets out a harsh breath. 

"Thought so," she says to herself, fluidly measuring out and applying a dose and anesthesia. His eyes flutter open, then closed again, though he continues to flinch for some time before the drug takes full effect. 

\--

Yagiri Namie checks over her patient's charts one more time, then looks at the recovery bed and makes eye contact with the man laying, unmoving, but looking blearily up at her. 

"Your vitals are good," she says, replacing the chart at the foot of the bed. "You're recovering remarkably fast."

He is silent for a moment. Shizuo looks at the wall, then his own hands, curled into fists on the bed. 

"You didn't have to save me. Most doctors wouldn't have bothered trying," he states. "Why." It doesn't sound like a question, but Namie figures he probably wants a response. She lets her lips form a small smile, her expression not exactly friendly. It reminds him of someone...

"You're not allowed to die," she says. She rests on hand on her hip and cocks it to the side. "You're the only person who ever really makes Orihara angry, and I can't live with being around him if he never has to fight for anything again. He'd be far too happy if you died."

Shizuo laughs weakly, eyes squeezed closed, and then hisses in pain. 

"Fair enough," he says, eyes drifting shut. "I better get back in shape fast then. Don't want him to get too comfortable."

\--

Namie walks into Orihara's flat to the sight of the man laid on his back on the couch, a cold compress on his cheek. 

"What happened to you?" she asks, not bothering to sound concerned. 

"It's nothing," he responds, terse. 

Namie sets her things down, arranging her purse with a light smile. She pulls out her phone and sends a single text.

"Your aim is improving."

\--

Shizuo glances at the incoming text and doesn't fight the smile that crawls across his face. 

"Oh, Shizuo, you look happy! Good news I hope." Shizuo meets Simon's eyes as the Russian sets down a plate of Sushi in front of him. 

"It's good to be back," he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Written at work during a slow period because my job is incredibly boring. I apologize for rusty writing skills, I've been in a writing slump for the better part of two years.


End file.
